Never No More
by LadyBush
Summary: Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin SLASH. 'To love Salazar is to be bruised by love'.


Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. I kneel before her.

Warning: Godric/Salazar slash.

**Never No More**

Godric Gryffindor was knee-deep in snow. It was a white day, he reflected, as he gazed across the carpeted landscape towards Hogwarts. The turrets of the castle were covered in snow and barely distinguishable against the white sky.

No colour in the landscape, he realised, and no colour in me. That was true enough. Rowena and Helga would be shocked to see him now. He who had left the castle in the summer happy and joking and bright and colourful, and was now to return pale and pallid and thin. His cheeks were sunken; his bones showed through flesh. To undress would be to show a multitude of ribs and collarbones and other bones too.

There were flecks of white appearing in his hair, more every day, until it seemed to him that soon the only colour on him would be his brown eyes- once gentle, now hard.

But not as hard as Salazar's. That man had emeralds for eyes- the sort of emeralds that are so dark they might as well be black diamonds. Few emotions ever registered in Salazar's eyes; hate was one, anger was another but never compassion or warmth or love. It wasn't that Salazar was a bad person –he had been one of Godric's closest friends, _the_ closest, in fact- it was just that he was hard. Tough. Cold.

Salazar had been the reason for his leaving. One day, Godric had awoken to find his friend, his part-time lover, gone like a ghost in the night.

Perhaps, it was wrong to think of Salazar as a lover- the word implied affection, not heated violent embraces. Passionate kisses in the dungeons, kisses that invariably ended up with Godric slammed up against a wall, the dampness of the stones felt though his robes and jewels of blood glistening on his lower lip, as he looked desperately into his friend's eyes for an emotion other that anger or lust. He had never found one.

"There is no love without pain. It's a common misconception," Salazar had once said. Helga and Rowena had scoffed. Godric had remained silent; worried that he was starting to fall in with his lover's cynical outlook on life.

To love Salazaar was to be bruised by love. To love Salazar was to be desperately unhappy.

And now Godric was returning home. Or to Hogwarts, at least. It was hard to know where home was now. Seven months had passed since his eyes had last stared across the snow-carpeted landscape (it had been green back then) and rested on the castle. It was beautiful but that wasn't enough to make it 'home' and not just 'another place'.

The last half-mile and he half expected to see Salazar galloping out of the castle, a black figure astride a black horse. While he had grown older these seven months, Salazar would be younger than ever and would tell him off, his voice that odd mix of honey and ice, for leaving Hogwarts.

"I was only gone for a week," Salazar would say, leaping off his horse to give him one of his bony, bruising hugs. "Gone for a week and you feel the need to search the length and breadth of Britannia for me."

Godric shook the thought from his mind as he moved onto the last quarter mile. Better to rely on memories that thoughts for happiness, he decided.

He remembered the first time. It was ridiculous, really. Three years since and he could still remember it as if it were yesterday. Salazar had hit him- it wasn't the first time, it wouldn't be the last, but it was the first time that Godric had ever hit back. He'd done it without thinking, and then stared in horror as Salazar's left eye had turned red. There was no blood, only this faint redness.

"Ah," was all Salazar said for a moment. His gentle exhalation of breath was hot across Godric's face. "You hit me."

"Yes." Godric had said. He had reached out and run a hand across his friend's eye. It was hot and swollen. His hand had trembled. Salazar had stroked Godric's own hot burning cheek but Salazaar's hand had been steady, even as it snaked behind the back of his head, pulling him forwards. There lips had met for a split-second. It wasn't exactly a kiss, just a meeting of lips, but it was the beginning of everything.

The beginning of the end.

They had argued and they had made love. Fought like bitter enemies and loved like them too. Sometimes they were gentle- the night before his disappearance, Salazar had kissed Godric's hand. Over seven months later the gesture still screamed 'farewell'.

Their fights had always been the same. Always muggles and purebloods and it always came down to fists, sometimes to wands. The deeper in love they had become, the fiercer they had fought.

No 'I love you' for Godric.

And then one day Salazar was gone. The thought made Godric's eyes shine with tears, which was a bit much after seven months. He never let the tears fall, though. He simply walked on, through the snow, into a biting wind. The castle doors swung open for him and Helga and Rowena were stood in the entrance hall. They shook their heads and he shook his and one of the four was gone.

He embraced Helga, who was teary-eyed and Rowena who was thin and sharp.

"We can take anyone now," he murmured, seeing children before his eyes: children who could grow up free from the prejudices of blood. It was a fine idea, but it seemed small consolation for the loss of a man whose kisses had marked his naked skin.

"We found a scroll," Helga said, later as they ate.

"A scroll?"

"From Salazar, bearing your name."

Godric's stew never reached his mouth. Rowena made a noise of disapproval and wiped gravy from his robes. _From Salazar. Bearing your name. _He could not think; could scarcely breath, until he read the scroll.

"Where?" he managed to say.

"Your bed." There was no intonation or suspicion or disapproval in Helga's gentle, even voice. "It must have arrived by owl after you left," she said. "At night."

He didn't eat anyting else, couldn't if he'd wanted to and he dashed to his room as soon as possible. There it was, on his bed- the last piece of Salazar he owned. He stared at it for a long time before daring to pick it up. The scroll, when he read it, explained a lot and yet nothing at all:

_I think you ought to know, I love you as much as I hate you. No more and no less._

_SS_

He sighed and tore the scroll into shreds. He looked around. The castle itself seemed calmer somehow without Salazar. Godric smiled, even as he felt the first prickling at the back of his throat to herald tears.

"I hate you too," he whispered. "But only as much as I love you."


End file.
